


woosanhwa a/b/o-ish

by bigyikesenergy (whiskybusiness)



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Bottom Park Seonghwa, Breeding Kink, Friends to Lovers, Lactation Kink, M/M, Mentions of Pregnancy, Mommy Kink, Nipple Play, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Nursing Kink, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26170300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskybusiness/pseuds/bigyikesenergy
Summary: If there’s one thing Seonghwa fervently believes, it’s that neither Wooyoung nor San would ever be able to hurt one another. Not even feral and frenzied with arousal, nearly out of their minds from excitement.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 38
Kudos: 281





	woosanhwa a/b/o-ish

**Author's Note:**

> IMP NOTES: seonghwa is written as he/him and he refers to his genitals as p**sy, cl*t, c*nt, and v**ina. there are mentions of his past pregnancy and breastfeeding, and he's called mommy during the fic. the fic is actually pretty sweet/soft but there is a lot of gender fuckery so please don't read it if any of this sounds potentially troublesome!! feel free to suggest any tags i might have forgotten :D

Of course it would happen on a Wednesday. Nothing good ever happens to Seonghwa on Wednesdays. 

“Hey hey hey!” Yunho skids up to him, catching his arm as he’s leaving the nursing station. 

He looks rather frantic, Seonghwa notes with distaste, and with not a little apprehension. Yunho doesn’t often look anything other than fully exuberant. “Yunho-yah,” he says.“What’s up?”

Yunho chews on his lower lip. “We’ve got a, uh. We’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of problem? A solvable one?”

“Well, that depends.”

Frowning, he eyes Yunho’s grip on his forearm. “Depends on what?”

“Oh! Sorry.” Yunho removes his hand, then huffs a short laugh. “Um, kind of — depends on you.”

This is sounding worse and worse, Seonghwa decides. He’s already tetchy, irked from an entire morning of having his nipples tugged on by tiny nursing monsters. He’s still leaking into his shirt, and his raw nipples are dragging uncomfortably against his shift. 

Whoever said nurturing was a peaceful and rewarding occupation was quite the salesperson. “Yunho, can you be a bit _less_ cryptic, maybe?”

“Ah, well. So.” Yunho hesitates. “Wooyoung and San went into season.” 

Mother of God. Seonghwa sucks in a sharp breath, his whole body jerking in shock. In season? But they’re — they’re — are they even old enough? 

He does the mental math, counting up. Wooyoung just completed 900 weeks — he remembers the celebration, the way San had jokingly held his arms behind his back as Wooyoung smeared cake frosting on his nose, and then, adding insult to injury, had licked it right off. 

A scant 900 weeks is way too young to go into season. But that was, when? He thinks desperately. That could’ve been last year. San completed 1,000 recently, too, but it doesn’t matter. No one thinks much of the milestone anymore, since — 

“But they’re on dampeners,” he croaks. 

Face scrunched in sympathy, Yunho reaches up to squeeze his shoulder. “Yeah. Apparently their dose was too low. The doctor said they’re naturally very —” He waves his hands vaguely. “Very high acetylcholine. Easily triggered. The doc said they were surprised the two of them hadn’t gone sooner.”

 _Naturally high…_ “How the fuck did they go together?” Seonghwa asks, trying to pull himself together. 

So they’re in season. At the same time. That’s unexpected, but it happens to everyone in San and Wooyoung’s occupation, eventually. Usually the hormones stymy it until they receive permission to partner, but sometimes, as they all know, it doesn’t work perfectly. 

He didn’t expect it to happen to them, though. Not now. 

“They said they were watching something together,” Yunho says. “The doctor thinks it was porn. Yeah, I know,” he adds, as Seonghwa rolls his eyes. 

“How the hell did they get around the censors?” 

“I don’t know, some tech miracle,” Yunho says. But then he bites his lip and places a hand, gentler this time, onto Seonghwa’s arm. The frantic look is back. “Hey, hyung. I know it’s kind of funny, but, um, it’s kind of worse than it seems.” 

“What do you mean?” Seonghwa narrows his eyes. “They’re okay, right? You put them with companions?” 

“Well—”

“Well what? Yunho!”

“We don’t have enough companions for them,” Yunho rushes out, wincing. “I know it’s my fault, but we had no idea they’d go into season. And together.” 

There’s a new kind of tension building in Seonghwa’s stomach. “So they’re just — what? Locked up until they pass through?” 

“Not exactly,” Yunho says. “They’re—”

“They’re going to stunt if you don’t give them partners,” Seonghwa cuts him off, affronted. “Even just one companion, they could share. Yunho, you can’t just leave them alone.”

“Look, we have an idea, okay?” Yunho says quickly. Lulled into distraction by those puppy eyes, Seonghwa should really have expected it when he says, “We thought, maybe, you could accompany them? Both of them?”

Seonghwa is shocked into silence for the second time. 

“Are you serious?” he demands, his throat suddenly dry as bone. This is a very unfunny prank. In fact, part of him suspects San and Wooyoung are hiding beyond the turn of the corner, listening to him lose his goddamn mind at the thought of — that. “Are you being serious, Yunho-yah?”

It is not a good sign that Yunho just blushes. “Well. You’re the only free sympath around. The rest are away at that training, remember?”

No no no. _Absolutely not,_ Seonghwa wants to say, his mind swimming through mud. He’s supposed to be resting now, taking his hour break before going for his one year month appointment. He’s supposed to be having his _insides_ checked by a doctor, his feet up in stirrups, his vagina probed by strange, slick, plastic-encased fingers to see if he’s healthy enough to get knocked up again. He’s supposed to be having his chest squeezed for bumps, his vitals cleared. 

He is _not_ supposed to be drafted into some kind of impromptu companionship for _Wooyoung and San,_ of all people.

It makes his cheeks burn just to think about it. “But they’re like my —” _my babies_ , “ — my younger brothers. We’re friends.”

“I know,” Yunho says, and he wipes a hand over his face. He really does seem stressed, Seonghwa can see, worry and tiredness in the way he stands. “I know you’re close, and I know it’ll be a bit weird, but please, hyung, like you said. They’ll stunt if we leave them, and we can’t afford to lose two good hunters.”

“And you can’t ask Hongjoong?” Seonghwa tries weakly.

Yunho raises his eyebrows. “You want us to ask Hongjoong hyung to accompany someone?”

Yeah, that would not go over well with anyone. He’d probably bite their dicks off. 

With a sigh, Seonghwa thinks: it’s for them. It’s for Wooyoung and it’s for San, and anyway, it’s not their fault this is happening. Yes, they did watch _porn_ , which was highly stupid and regrettable, but he’s sure they didn’t mean or even know it would be possible to trigger their seasons. Mostly sure. “Okay, fine,” he concedes. “I’ll do it.”

Beaming, Yunho jumps in place with a squealed noise. “Oh, awesome! Thank everything, I was so worried. I’ll buy you new clothes cards, I swear, and maybe even try to get your next birth postponed? If that’s something you want, I mean —”

“I don’t mind birthing,” Seonghwa says dismissively. He doesn’t, especially not every three years. “If you could get my nursing duties reduced, though, that would be great.” 

Yunho nods excitedly. “You got it, no problem.”

“So, this is time sensitive?”

“Right, right.” Yunho takes a look at his outfit, eyes dropping to Seonghwa’s feet and then up again. “It’s kind of an ASAP situation — have you done the companion training, or?”

“When I matured,” Seonghwa says. 

So, four years ago, now. It was one of a rash of trainings, and not his profession, so he hadn’t paid too much attention. He remembers the virtual recreation of a companionship, though. The sympath in the film had been dripping wetness, either lubricant or organic secretions, their genitals swollen and needy. The antag in the film was wild and used their organic cock, and they’d locked the sympath in both holes and their mouth — stretching each hole as wide as a fist, as the sympath choked and moaned and begged for more. 

The instructor had explained that the sympath would be pumped with semen regardless of whether the cock was organic, and that they would get pregnant if they weren’t on dampeners, like Seonghwa is, when he’s not meant to be bred and give birth. 

Seonghwa had been eighteen and completely unripe, but watching the video had made his underwear fill with wetness from inside him, like it was drawn out by the primitive scenes. He understands a lot more about sex now, even if he’s only been penetrated once, by a clerk who had flirted with him after his first birthing appointment. That experience did not include seasons or locking, thankfully, because the clerk did not care for much other than spending inside Seonghwa’s unused cunt. To this day, nearly four years and one birth later, he still shudders to think of that fat cock swelling to lock inside his pussy, which was rather dry at the time. 

Luckily, he can impregnate himself now, thanks to science. Or the doctors can. Technically. 

“Okay, so you know what they’re going to be like, then.” Yunho claps his hands.“Are you ready to go now? We’ll give you lube, and you know I’ll be watching for any misbehavior.”

“Alright,” Seonghwa says, swallowing heavily. “Yeah, I can go now, if you reschedule my checkup.”

“No problem at all. Follow me, then." Yunho takes off in long strides down the hallway, leaving Seonghwa to jog to catch up. 

“Where did you put them, anyway?” 

Yunho gestures forwards unhelpfully. “One of the usual rooms. They swore they wouldn’t hurt each other, and I’ve got Mingi on screens, so they should still both be in one piece.”

If there’s one thing Seonghwa fervently believes, it’s that neither Wooyoung nor San would ever be able to hurt one another. Not even feral and frenzied with arousal, nearly out of their minds from excitement. 

“Did you tell them about this? That I was...” Seonghwa trails off, fighting the heat in his cheeks. 

Yunho stops at a closed door and whips out his keycards. “I didn’t, because I wasn’t really sure you’d agree.” Fair, Seonghwa thinks. He’s still not sure why he did agree. “But I did tell them I was going to find them a sympath, so they should be expecting someone."

“Is this…?” Seonghwa looks at the closed door as Yunho thumbs through his cards.

“Oh, nah. Just stopping for lube, etcetera.” The door opens into a supply closet, and Yunho steps inside quickly. “Any preferences for brand?” 

Lube brand? Yunho must think he’s really getting busy in his free time. Usually, when Seonghwa masturbates, he gets wet enough to at least ease the dry rub of his fingers against his clit, so he never needs lube. He definitely doesn’t use it to play with his ass — he tried once, but even one finger tingled strangely and the lube got his sheets wet, and San had knocked on the door when he was gritting his teeth and fingering his asshole, so the whole experience didn’t encourage him to try again. 

“No preferences,” he says. 

Yunho hums. “Tissues or toilet paper?” 

“Tissues.”

“Got it. Did you want any cortical stims?”

Oh. Hm. Seonghwa takes a second to consider the idea. It would help him get wet — the dripping, loose kind of wet. It would force him to relax. It would force him to _feel good_ when Wooyoung — when San —

— but he doesn’t _like_ taking mods of any kind. They make him feel nervous, itchy, out of control. The lactactive stims are annoying enough. 

“I’m good,” he says finally, and it feels more ominous than two words should. 

“‘Okeydokey. We’re set, then.” Arms stuffed with supplies, Yunho leads him to yet another door. “This is the prep room,” he explains, then manages to find the keycard with one hand, the lube balanced precariously in his other arm. 

The room is small, spartan. Smaller than Seonghwa’s bedroom, and it has a small couch, a washbasin, and a small washroom. There are bottles that, on closer inspection, seem to be perfume and ointment not meant to enter into the body. Seonghwa sniffs them curiously as Yunho places the supplies on the couch. “Do I have to wear those?” he asks, before he remembers he’s supposed to be pretending he’s an expert on companionships. 

Luckily, Yunho seems oblivious. “Oh, no. Those are just optional. Actually,” he adds, “most antags I talk to after the fact seem to prefer the natural scent.” 

“Interesting.” Seonghwa replaces the ointment with a considering expression. 

“Yup. Okay, so you just —” Yunho waves a hand at the stuff now strewn over the small couch, “— do your thing. Here’s the card to get into their room. It’s two doors to the right of this one when you go out.”

Great. Wonderful, Seonghwa thinks, taking the card. “Thanks,” he says.

“Thank _you_!” Stopped in the doorway, Yunho smiles broadly. “I’ll get right on those nursing hours, don’t you worry. Try to have fun, too,” he adds, with a wink. 

Seriously? Seonghwa watches him go with an expression that’s somewhere between revolted and uncertain. Fun? Yeah, his idea of fun is admittedly rather suspect — it often involves an afternoon of deep-cleaning his quarters — but it definitely has never involved season sex. With Wooyoung and San.

Time is of the essence, so he shakes himself off and snaps open the lid of the lubricant. His shift is simple linen and comfortable, covering nearly his entire body from throat to mid-calf, and the flowing sleeves cut off at the elbow so as to not impede motor function. The front unbuttons as well, to allow a nursing infant to cradle against his chest and suckle. It’s a very practical and modest outfit. 

He owns a variety of clothes, of course, but he prefers the nursing uniform. He’s proud of his body, and he works out with San much more than he used to, so he’s getting harder in places he used to be soft or flabby. Regardless, maybe because of his weekly nursing duties, or lactative stims, his chest has remained soft and squishy to the touch. So has his stomach, even nearly twelve months after birthing. 

He knows he’s an attractive man. He knows he’s even more attractive because he’s a sympath, and a fertile sympath, and because he’s beautiful in the conventional way, even if San and Wooyoung tease him about it whenever he gets complimented in public. 

He’s been blessed with good facial features. It doesn’t mean he’s used to this kind of thing. 

Fingering himself open is difficult with more unease than arousal thrumming through his body. He balances awkwardly with one leg up on the couch, his shift hiked up, and works three fingers inside his cunt. It feels tight. Not a great sign, but when he slips his hand away and wipes it off on a tissue, he at least feels more prepared than before.

Straightening up, he lets his shift fall down his legs. He won’t put the underwear back on. There’s no point, not when it’s just going to be taken off again. 

And then the moment comes. The moment he would have thought was _ridiculous_ until very recently, about to — well, there’s no use in fretting about it, he thinks, stood in front of the door. He can’t hear anything from inside, and that’s both frightening and nerve-wracking. 

Breath caught in his throat, he swipes the keycard and waits.

Wooyoung and San’s eyes dart to him as soon as the door swings open. Seonghwa swallows down the dry itch in his throat, a strange electricity sparking through him at the feeling of their eyes on his body. They’re sitting on a small sofa, wearing simple shifts that do little to disguise the tents at the crotch. 

“Seonghwa,” Wooyoung says, breaking the silence. It’s little more than a rasp. 

He looks — they both look — as shocked as Seonghwa suddenly _feels_ , even though he’s come armed with an hour’s head start of knowing the situation. 

Before Seonghwa can even begin to respond, the two of them have leapt off the couch and are tugging him into the room, two hands on each of his forearms. Seonghwa is too thunderstruck to resist, and then there are two bodies crowding him from the front and the back, like Wooyoung and San are trying to hug _around_ him. 

“I can’t believe we got him,” Wooyoung says. He’s taken the position to Seonghwa’s front, and, as he speaks, his hot breath brushes the flushed skin of Seonghwa’s neck, making him shiver. 

“He must have agreed,” San says, sounding wonderstruck. 

His hands are settled, firm but not tight, over Seonghwa’s hip bones, and the two of them are pressed so close that there’s no way Seonghwa can mistake the feeling of two hard bulges rubbing against his hip and ass.

Oh, God. He breathes out shakily, overheating from the proximity and sheer fire of their arousal. It’s as if Wooyoung is setting him on fire with every exhale against his collarbone, nosing along Seonghwa’s neck like he’s scenting him. San’s teeth close around his ear from behind, as firm as his grip around Seonghwa’s sides, but not rough. Solid, stable. 

“Did you want us to fuck you, hyung?” Wooyoung asks, drawing back to look into his eyes. 

Like this, the height difference doesn’t seem like anything at all. It doesn’t matter that Wooyoung has to look up at him, his gaze dipping to Seonghwa’s mouth hungrily, because Seonghwa is suddenly hot and tingly between his legs.

He feels faint. They’ve never looked at him like this before. They’ve never touched him like this, even jokingly, and Seonghwa knows it’s just the season making them act like this, but he’s getting wet. He’s getting wet, and his skin is prickling, needy, aching to be touched.

Behind him, San is thrusting against his ass in small, deliberate movements, his breath already speeding in Seonghwa’s ear. It’s making it so hard to think. “I — I said I would help you,” he says weakly. 

“Mm,” San agrees, his hands dragging from Seonghwa’s hips to the thinnest part of his waist, squeezing, then sliding back down. “You’re so pretty, mommy. So pretty.”

“What’s — why are you calling me that?” Shivering, Seonghwa squirms between their bodies. He’d expected — what had he expected? Something like that virtual companionship, something wild and slightly ferocious. Something like the clerk, something that he’d lie back and grit his teeth and _take_ , just to get through it. 

There’s a laughing puff of air against his ear before San answers. “You’re a mother, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, but — ah!” He stops short when San’s hands come _up_ to drag over his chest. His hands squeeze the flesh of his chest, which is half softness and half burgeoning muscle. The touch feels strange, but it does nothing to stop the throbbing in his cunt. 

He pants at one especially firm squeeze, and Wooyoung pushes San’s hands away with a grunt. “Want to touch,” he declares, and then he’s fondling Seonghwa’s chest from the front, squishing his chest together as much as possible, which isn’t much, because Seonghwa is too slender to be well-endowed. “You don’t like us calling you mommy?” he asks.

“It’s not — that,” Seonghwa grits out, unsure whether his fucking _dripping_ cunt wants him to press back into San’s cock or the hands groping his chest. What the fuck is wrong with him, getting off on this? “Only the — the kids call me that.”

It sounds _weird_ for them to call him that. The young ones call him that, him and all the nurses and birthers, because there’s really no way to know who isn’t whose mother and who fed which kid on their nipple. Mommy is a nice, catch-all title, but only the kids use it. Wooyoung and Seonghwa probably used to call the nurses that when they were little, just like Seonghwa did, but they’re too old to do it now. Now it just sounds — dirty. Kind of wrong, but then again, the whole thing is unnatural. Being called mommy while Wooyoung gropes his chest over his shift is hardly the strangest thing about this. 

“You feel wet,” Wooyoung remarks, his slim fingers rubbing over Seonghwa’s nipples. 

Seonghwa chokes out a nonsense sound, his sore nipples already hard from the attention. And yes, he’s leaking milk — thankfully not spraying, just dribbling out, smearing damply against his shift. “I just nursed,” he manages, and he can’t stifle a moan when Wooyoung rolls his erect nipples in two fingers, eyes dark.

The sound makes San growl into his neck, humping his ass harder. “Please, Wooyoung, I need to — need to lock, I’m going to, need —”

Eyebrows knitted, Wooyoung cups his face in two hands. The gesture feels oddly gentle. “Hyung. Are you okay?”

The concern in his voice relaxes Seonghwa, warming him in a sweeter way than the wetness dripping out of his cunt. “I’m fine,” he says, with as much confidence as he can muster. 

“Okay. San, stop. Put him on the bed.”

“Ah, ah, o-okay,” San pants, and then the hardness against his back disappears, as do the hands gripping his waist. In the next second, Seonghwa is dipped back and caught easily in San’s wiry arms. Despite Seonghwa’s taller stature, San carries him to the bed with no more difficulty than if Seonghwa were a kitten. 

Seonghwa is really wet. He’s wet, and his whole body is shivery, and he’s confused by the sudden influx by smells and touches and images. Despite the strangeness, it’s impossible to ignore how much his cunt _wants_ something inside it, the way it doesn’t usually drip for his fingers. He aches. 

“Lift your hips, sweetheart,” Wooyoung tells him, once San has laid him on his back. When he lifts his ass off the mattress, Wooyoung works his shift up to bunch around his waist. 

Seonghwa blushes deeply. This way, with his legs spread slightly, they can see his bare cunt, his sparse pubic hair, the swollen head of his clit, paler than the rest of him. He must look soaked down there.

“I want to fuck him,” San begs, eyes stuck between Seonghwa’s legs. “Mommy, please —”

“Okay, y-yes, okay,” Seonghwa forces out. 

It hurts to be in season without a partner, everyone knows that. Those forced to go without often lose part of themselves in the process. That’s why he’s doing this, so he forces himself to spread his legs wider, allowing San to inch forward and — oh _god_ , position his cock at Seonghwa’s cunt. 

He hadn’t gotten a look at either of their cocks, but San is sizable, and Wooyoung — Wooyoung is pushing at his shoulder, murmuring, “Can you sit up? I want to sit behind you.”

Oh. Okay, Seonghwa thinks. He works himself up to allow Wooyoung to slip behind him, settling Seonghwa’s back against his chest. His legs splay out around Seonghwa’s body, and with San settled between Seonghwa’s legs, it all feels so normal and so terribly _not_. The three of them are together almost every day, though less often than Wooyoung and San are together, which seems to be 24/7. In three years of friendship, the three of them have spent hours together eating, play-fighting, teasing each other, watching films, learning performance rituals from centuries ago, laughing and laughing and laughing. Always with an edge between him and the two of them, of course, because of the year’s difference in age and because he’s a sympath, and he breeds and he nurses and they’re meant to grow into something far different. 

They’re friends. They’re closer than brothers, even, and now San is pushing his cock into Seonghwa’s pussy and he’s never felt anything as good in his entire life. 

“Plea — oh, oh,” he gasps, his stomach tensing. San hasn’t even locked him yet, but his cunt is spasming around the thick cock inside it, clenching so hard that he sees stars. “Please, San, hn…”

“Feel good?” Wooyoung strokes his shoulders from behind, soothing his shudders. 

“Good,” Seonghwa pants, and San must have been waiting to hear that, because he groans and starts to _fuck_. Arms braced on the mattress, he thrusts inside Seonghwa’s cunt, jolting him into Wooyoung with every push of his hips. 

It takes one lock for an antag to pass through their season. Meaning, Seonghwa needs to take both of their cocks to resolve this issue. The thought had scared him before, but now, he thinks, eyelids fluttering, he wouldn’t mind at all. God, it feels so awfully amazing. San thrusting into him like this, rapid and stuttered, almost like a dog rutting inside a bitch, but Seonghwa doesn’t mind the comparison, even mental. He’s barely able to think beyond the feeling of his cunt being stretched. Every time he tightens up he feels it more, perfect pressure against something inside him. 

“‘M going to — I — ” Groaning, San snaps his hips, and then Seonghwa feels his come. 

It feels hot and wet, much unlike his artificial impregnation. San pauses with his cock pulsing inside him, fully inserted, and Seonghwa feels a swelling where the base of his cock sits inside the entrance to his pussy. He moans at the sensation, trembling.

It’s not _bad_. It’s just so full, stretching him even wider. Literally locking him in place, which is the point of the name, but Seonghwa has never felt the meaning more than when San is hovering above him with his cock forming a fist inside his pussy, pumping him with come. 

“‘M breeding you up, mommy,” San chokes out. He drops down to press them together chest to chest, nuzzling into Seonghwa’s neck. “Going to get you all round with my babies, hm, yeah?”

Traitorously, the words make the nerve endings in Seonghwa’s cunt tingle. He clenches uselessly around San’s cock, thinking of the come sloshing around inside him. He can’t get pregnant — his dampeners won’t allow it until his next birth — but of course San’s season-brain would think about it that way. 

San’s abdomen is rubbing against his clit as they wait for his cock to deflate. It’s almost enough pressure to get him to come, and God help him, he wants to come, even if it’s horribly immoral. He whines softly, trying to hump against San’s stomach. He just needs a little friction, and he can come with San’s cock filling him up.

Wooyoung, surprisingly patient throughout all of this, chuckles softly. “Want to come, mommy?” he asks. “San, come on, rub his clit. He was so good for you, wasn’t he?”

“Hrngh.” San is a warm, solid weight on his body, limp as a jellyfish. But at Wooyoung’s words, he starts to rock into Seonghwa, pushing the hard muscle of his abdomen against Seonghwa’s swollen clit. 

“I meant your — nevermind,” Wooyoung sighs.

Seonghwa doesn’t care. Fingers or skin, the pressure is all he needs. He’s panting again, tiny whines slipping out after every other breath, trying to rock up into San’s thrusts. It’s just so perfect — stretched open, being locked, being _held,_ and Seonghwa can’t handle the ecstasy of it. He comes with a desperate sound, his eyes rolling up in his head as he spasms between their bodies. 

He swears the clench of his cunt milks even more come out of San’s cock. San mumbles something that sounds like “sweekh” into his chest, nudging his cheek more firmly into the space between Seonghwa’s nipples. 

After some time in this strange sandwich, Wooyoung prods at San’s cheek. “Hey, can you hurry up and get soft? I want to fuck him, too.” San groans, and Seonghwa feels the echo of Wooyoung’s frustrated exhale on the back of his head. “Come on, I need to lock, you bitch.”

“Going, going…” With a pronounced groan, San pushes himself up and, carefully, withdraws his cock from Seongwa’s pussy. The base of his cock looks normal, now, and okay. San’s cock is _big_.

Seonghwa stares at it. When he clenches his cunt, he can feel the lingering sensation of being stretched, a slight sore burn that makes him shiver. 

“How’s his hole look?” 

_I am right here,_ Seonghwa thinks, wanting to smack Wooyoung and his annoying erection, the one digging into Seonghwa’s lower back, but it’s true that San has a better view of his cunt from in front. He bites his lip when San presses a thumb to his entrance, slipping over the slickness coating the entire area. “He’s so wet,” San says.

Seonghwa blushes at the awe in his voice. So what if he got wet? That’s what cunts do, when they’re — enjoying themselves. It’s not abnormal. 

“Hyung, are you sore?” Wooyoung asks. 

“Not...too bad,” Seonghwa manages. He’s always more loose and relaxed after coming, and some odd part of him is itching to get another cock inside him. 

“Can I lock your pussy?” 

The word in Wooyoung’s mouth sounds even worse than mommy does. Dirtier. 

Seonghwa shivers, blinking. Who taught them these words? Is this how they talk about him when he’s not there? Have they ever thought about this? he wonders, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. They’re feral because of the season, but have they ever thought about touching him like this, before?

No way to know unless he asks, and like hell is he going to open that can of worms right now. “Yeah, it’s fine,” he grinds out. 

He hears a breathy sound. “I’m going to turn you onto your side, okay?”

Wooyoung manhandles him into the position he wants, which seems to be himself as the big spoon, Seonghwa as the little spoon, and San lying across from Seonghwa, curving his body towards them, only a hand’s length between his and Seonghwa’s faces. 

And then Wooyoung’s cock pokes between his thighs and finds his cunt, gliding against the slipperiness there before thrusting inside. Seonghwa squeaks when he pushes in fully, not even caring that San is watching his eyelids flutter and mouth fall open from the feeling of another thick cock stretching him open. 

“Good?” Wooyoung pants. At Seonghwa’s overwhelmed moan, he makes a satisfied noise and starts to thrust inside him, one hand curled over Seonghwa’s hip to keep him steady as he rocks his cock inside.

“He feels good, doesn’t he?” San asks, his eyes on Seonghwa’s flushed face. 

“Amazing.” Wooyoung’s voice catches on the word. “You weren’t kidding about how wet he is. It’s like a flood down here.”

“It’s n-normal,” Seonghwa forces out, unable to take another of these ridiculous comments. 

San strokes his cheek, then squishes his cheeks in one hand, pushing his lips out in a pout. Seonghwa glares at him. Is this really the time for that? “It just means he’s enjoying himself,” San says, smiling. He moves his hand to trace over Seonghwa’s bottom lip. “The prettiest mommy, I swear. So cute. Our precious star Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa feels quite unlike any of those things. “Oh, oh,” he gasps, rocked forward by a particularly emphatic series of thrusts. 

San’s fingers slip inside his mouth. Accidentally or not, he isn’t sure, but then he’s drooling desperately around two of San’s fingers as Wooyoung fucks him so hard he feels like he’s being shaken to pieces. 

The feeling is turning Seonghwa mindless, unable to keep his eyes open as his cunt gets slammed into at such an unrelenting pace. He isn’t able to keep quiet either. Embarrassingly enough, moans spill out around San’s fingers with each hard thrust.

“Good mommy,” San whispers, watching him suckle on his fingers. 

Wooyoung’s grip on his hip gets tighter. After two hard thrusts and a shaky exhale, Seonghwa feels a wet heat pooling inside him, and a deepening stretch at his entrance as Wooyoung’s cock swells. The second time around, Seonghwa is coherent enough to think it feels unlike anything he’d ever experienced. 

“Ah, yeah, perfect...” Mouth pressed into Seonghwa’s neck, Wooyoung’s lips brush over his skin. 

He pushes further into Seonghwa — well, he doesn’t, because Seonghwa is sure Wooyoung is buried up to the balls inside him. But he sneaks an arm around Seonghwa’s middle and, unexpectedly, his hand finds Seonghwa’s chest. 

Seonghwa jolts at the first squeeze. “Hah — ah?” he pants, surprised. The hand continues to fondle him, massaging the flesh of his chest like before. 

Almost anything makes Seonghwa leak, especially after taking a stim. Wooyoung’s fingers twisting his nipples, a cock seated in his wet cunt, are more than enough to make milk trickle out of his hard nipples. 

“Can I suck?” San asks him, breaking him out of his daze. 

The question makes Seonghwa’s cheeks turn crimson. But his pussy is aching, so he nods. 

Seonghwa has never been remotely turned on from nursing — quite the opposite — but this is _lewd_. The feeling of a hot, wet mouth on his nipple is much different when it’s San suckling on him; San’s head bobbing eagerly as he sucks on Seonghwa’s nipple. 

The way he sucks is loud, wet and sloppy. Seonghwa can’t decide whether he loves or hates it. “Ah, ah, please…”

“He’s good with his mouth, hm?” Sounding breathless, Wooyoung snakes his arm around to pet San’s head. “He’d suck you off so well, mommy, but I think you want to come sooner, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” Seonghwa chokes out. He does want to come, and he isn’t too humiliated to admit how much. He clenches around the throbbing fullness in his cunt, squirming. “Can you…?”

Wooyoung moves his arm down, his fingers gathering the wetness from around Seonghwa’s entrance and smoothing it around his clit. “So needy, mommy,” he teases, but Seonghwa is too busy losing his mind over the feeling of pressure on his clit, oversensitive and aching, and the suction of San’s mouth on his hard nipple.

 _I’m going to die,_ he thinks. Wooyoung’s cock is still hard inside him, pumping him warm with cum, and his fingers play with Seonghwa’s clit like he’s rolling a marble, just the right mix of firm and soft touches. 

“Are you going to come on my cock, sweetheart?” Wooyoung breathes into his ear, and then he curves his warm palm over Seonghwa’s clit and pulls him back onto his cock with his hand, thrusting even deeper into Seonghwa’s cunt. 

It’s too much. Pinned between their bodies, Seonghwa comes with a stunned gasp, clenching and shaking. 

“That’s it, mommy,” San breathes, flicking his wet nipple. Seonghwa makes blurred eye contact with him, too overwhelmed to care that he looks fuck-dumb, face crumpled in pleasure. He’s never had an orgasm like that — he’s never felt that way at all, sensation all over his skin and inside his body, coming together to push him over the edge. 

They wait for a while, listening to Seonghwa’s heavy breathing, before Wooyoung pats his hip lightly. “Hyung, can I pull out?”

Seonghwa feels like he can’t catch his breath. “Ye — yes,” he says, then coughs. 

When Wooyoung’s cock slips out of his cunt, they adjust positions again. Seonghwa is laid on his back; Wooyoung cuddles up on his right side, and San echoes him on the other. Another Seonghwa sandwich. This time, they leave Seonghwa to calm himself back to normal, to lose the rapid thump of his pulse. At one point, a hand reaches down — San — to wipe a cloth over his cunt, cleaning him from ass to clit. 

Seonghwa simply lets it happen. He does, however, raise an arm to flick San on the forehead, hard, when he finally regains his strength. 

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Calling me _mommy_ ,” Seonghwa says, infusing the word with a satisfying amount of irritation. He doesn’t think it fools them, but he turns to flick Wooyoung as well. 

Wooyoung pouts at him, snuggling closer. “But you liked it,” he complains. “We made you come twice.”

 _And neither of you find that fucking weird?_ Seonghwa fights a blush, but his embarrassment is muted by the affectionate warmth of their bodies. They’ve often cuddled like this, though Wooyoung usually demands to be the middle spoon. Maybe it’s the normalcy that cuts the bite of how strange this whole incident has been. 

San traces a finger from his sternum down to his belly button. “You liked it, right?”

“I needed to help you out of season,” Seonghwa says, his heart beating faster, but then he gives up. What does he have to feel guilty about? “Yeah, I — I guess I did. You’re not useless with your — your cocks, I’ll give you that.” 

“I don’t like using mine much.” San nudges his head into Seonghwa’s collarbone. “Next time, if you want, you can fuck me. Wooyoung can prep me, he’s good at it—”

“You’ve fucked?” Seonghwa feels something in his stomach twist, and he’s not sure if it’s shock or something stupid, like jealousy. 

“Of course we have,” Wooyoung says. “Didn’t you notice? For years, dumbass — hyung. We always wanted to fuck you, though,” he adds quickly. “We just never thought you’d want to.”

Oh. Despite how fucked up that is, it does answer Seonghwa’s earlier question. And it makes something inside him twitch in satisfaction, knowing that he’s been desired. But still, he feels the need to make sure he’s not misunderstanding. “It wasn’t just the season?” he asks tentatively. 

“Mooommy,” Wooyoung drawls, and Seonghwa moves to flick him, but he ducks away too quickly. Cheeky bastard. “Seriously. We’ve wanted to be with you for so long.” He rolls back, wrapping a leg around Seonghwa’s thighs.

“The season thing was just a happy accident,” San agrees. 

Accident, Seonghwa’s ass. He clears his throat, a different kind of pleasure thrumming through his body. Something more peaceful. “I liked it,” he says softly. “I didn’t — I really didn’t think I would, before, but I liked it.”

“We’re glad.” When San kisses his neck, the pressure is light and warm.

They stay snuggled together, the two of them tracing shapes into the sensitive skin of his stomach, until it’s time for bed.


End file.
